Remember When It Snowed?
by more-than-melody
Summary: He is so absorbed that he doesn’t notice the awkward silence between the two officers, doesn’t notice that their responses to his enthusiastic questions are half-hearted at best. Royai, RoyxRiza


Disclaimer: FMA isn't mine.

* * *

Song: Good Arms vs. Bad Arms

_Leave the rest at arms length_

_When they reach up_

_Don't touch them, don't touch them_

* * *

It is the first time it has snowed yet this year. Really snowed, not just the faint dusting that melts when it hits the ground, doing nothing but make everything wet and miserable and the barren trees seem even gloomier than usual. The soft, fluffy flakes float down in spirals from the sky, the wind pounding them against the glass of the windows, pressing in against the warmth generated by electric heaters and the occasional fireplace, making the shadows seem longer than usual.

They leave the office on time for once, all of them. Havoc and Breda shouting out 'Happy Holidays', and the like. They're cheerful, overjoyed to be going home for three days of rest. Havoc has plans to spend his time with his latest girlfriend, Breda is going to visit his family. Hughes has phoned three times during the day to tell Colonel Mustang of his plans for the holidays, most of which involve a camera and his almost two year old daughter. He did make a point of inviting everyone for dinner on Saturday, which was nice, but most everyone declines. They have big plans. Fuery is volunteering, and Falman's sister is coming to visit, which seems weird because they never think of him having family; he has always existed in their minds, collecting knowledge for as many years as the world has been in existence.

Hawkeye and Mustang walk a ways together, because their apartments are in the same direction. Havoc walks a ways with them, talking the entire time about Rachel, his latest love. She has long, red hair, a tabby cat named Ophelia and collects straw hats. He is so absorbed that he doesn't notice the awkward silence between the two officers, doesn't notice that their responses to his enthusiastic questions_ (Doesn't she sound like a real charmer? And did you know, she has a brother who...) _are half-hearted at best.

The snow is thickening on the ground, and when Havoc splits ways with them, it is thick enough that they are leaving trails through it rather than footprints. The sky is darkening above, fading quickly to the dark, velvety texture of a cloudy winter sky. The street lights flick on, one at a time _(one, two, three)_, casting a yellow glow over their pale, icy, snow speckled faces. His eyes are turned up to the sky, hers to the ground below.

The distance between them seems so far sometimes, miles and miles and miles and miles and a thousand words couldn't bridge the gap, no matter how much they both want it. Too many years have passed with titles being enforced, with her spending the weekends alone and him spending the weekends feeling lonely. Too many years since they spent their holidays in the old kitchen in the mountains sipping cocoa and sitting in old, wing backed chairs by the fireplace. Too many years since they watched the snow pile up outside, first so deep that they had to wade through it to get to the mailbox and the road into town, then to the window so that they gave up trying to go out and dug into the store of canned soup in the pantry.

The bells toll seven o'clock. They have reached her apartment, and she has to brush snow off the doormat to retrieve the spare key from beneath it. She has forgotten her house key at the office, along with her shopping list and her package of emergency cough drops. The snow continues to fall, dusting his black hair and making it sparkle in the half light and purple shadows from the street lamps. It dampens her hair, turning the blonde strands darker. It settles into the collar of his coat, his scarf protecting his neck from the cold. It settles into her eyelashes, making them glitter and drawing his attention to her brown eyes. He swears he can smell cinnamon every time he gets near her, every time she sighs, every time she shakes her head and sends her loose hair drifting over her shoulders. _(She took it down to protect her ears from the cold, she said.)_

She pictures Hayate inside, his ears perking as he hears her voice outside. Those curious black eyes wondering who she could be talking to, what she's saying because she always smells like him when she comes home, always smells like the lemon he has in his tea and the cheap brand of laundry detergent he uses. _(It's different than what she smells like; she smells like cinnamon and oranges because the expensive laundry detergent smells like citrus and that's one thing she won't take a chance with is her dress shirts and her navy military uniform with the tiny patches and the hidden buttons) _

"Do you have any plans for the holidays?" he asks, intending it to come off breezy and careless as though he isn't really interested in her answer and is only being polite by asking. Instead, his voice is deeper than usual, softer too and it sounds vaguely hopeful, which is not the impression he meant for at all, even if it is accurate. He frowns, puzzled because he's never had problems disguising his intentions before and she smiles, a half smile, just a slight curl of her lips upward, which surprises him.

"Do I ever, sir?" She sounds amused, tired and regretful all at the same time, which is something he has yet to accomplish. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, reluctantly tugging her bare hands from her pockets to do so. The backs of her hands are red, he notices, almost raw looking, and her fingers and palms are white, so cold the blood has absented itself. He wants to reach out and take her hand in his own, which are warm. He always seems to generate too much body heat for himself, as though he was meant to be with someone like her who doesn't generate enough.

He manages a half smile himself and a small sound that might have passed for a laugh.

"No, I suppose not." He wants her to ask if he has any plans, if he has somewhere to go, someone to clean and cook and decorate for. She won't though, because she doesn't ask the questions; she just answers them. He takes a deep breath, wondering how he's spent so many holidays without her, how he managed to wreck something that hadn't even started. He realizes he doesn't want her to spend this weekend alone, as she has spent so many others. He realizes he doesn't want to spend his weekend with someone he doesn't really even like, just so he's not alone.

"Do you want to..." His voice dies in his throat because she isn't looking at him anymore, but at the ground where the snow has settled around their feet. He can see her breath in the dim light as she exhales, a soft cloud of white, almost like the smoke from Havoc's cigarettes and at the same time, so completely different. He pulls her into his arms and holds her for a long, sweet moment because he knows without asking what the answer is. She's just as tired of pretending as he is.

* * *

I'm ready for the holidays. I want it to snow. It hasn't snowed yet, and I want it to snow. Right...now.

To be completely honest, I wrote this in less than an hour, which is surprising, since it usually takes me a lot longer to write something even halfway decent, but I guess the Muses were with me today. :) I turned out two pieces of pretty decent stuff right off the top of my head.


End file.
